Almost
by PREttYPAIN
Summary: The girl, Connie. The one Mike helped. She couldn't get his face out of her mind. Why did she let him get hurt? He was white, she was black. Why did it matter? T for swearing...
1. Chapter 1

_After reading That Was Then This Is Now, I was really interested in the Mike character, and his whole story about the black girl who he helped. _

_I thought, "what was going on through her mind to let him get beaten like that? why did she seem so shy, scared, hurt, and then turn so hateful instantly?" __Clearly, she has been through some serious crap with white guys/people before and the discrimination/humiliation that blacks were subjucted to in those times caused her to snap. or something of that sort. i'm just using my imagination and musings to create this little "backstory", if you will. _

_i own nothing of course, except what is written here. the charcters aren't mine, but for some original ones. =)_

**_EDIT: I revised a bit. Realized some things were not quite right._**

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I hated coming home from work. Hated getting off my shift, walking down the streets, waiting at the bus station and sitting on that bus with all those people. The way they stared, as if they'd never seen a black girl before. This ain't 1954, folks, I felt like telling them. With Martin Luther King and Freedom Rides, times were changing. And yet I can't walk down the street without some knucklehead white boy hollering at me or whistling all crude like. It wasn't just the boys though, the white ladies would stare too. One time two old ladies were walking by me, and I heard them plain as day, say "Oh look, that girl is something pretty for a colored girl." And she smiled at me real nice, as if I should be gratified that she had just spoken about me as if I was a sideshow. I didn't smile back. I didn't even look at her. I just ducked my head, like always.

I learned a long time ago that it was better to be ignored.

Back when I was six my Momma took me to the drugstore near her work downtown. See, that was when we lived way down south. before Momma moved us here. There were two sections to get your ice cream: one for whites and one for us. We sat there in the summer sun, with our matching pink sunglasses and summer dresses, enjoying the feel of the cold ice cream on her tongues. A tall white man kept looking our way, his blue eyes steely with some kind of glint. I didn't know then why he was staring at us, or why he walked over and told my Momma she was sitting too close and needed to stay with her people.

"But it looks like your kind prefers being close with white folks, am I right?" He snaked his fingers around my Momma's wrist, and she dropped her ice cream to the hot cement.

There were only a few people there, all white and staring. One lady took her little boy and walked away quickly. One man grinned. I knew my Momma was different, even at a young age I saw how others treated her. Even in our neighborhood she would get treated like she wasn't one of the family, or even one of the residents. I thought it was because she was so pretty, like the Dorothy Dandridge lady I saw once in a movie. She was slender and graceful, with sloping eyes and fine wavy hair and skin that shined like copper in the sunlight. But as I would find out, my Momma wasn't beautiful enough to save us both from the cruel world.

"I'm sorry, sir." My Momma told the man quietly, just as he let her go. She stood and took my hand, and the man turned his cold eyes on me. His smile widened.

"Well, looks like you passed some of your white blood to your little half breed there. She's almost as cute as a white girl."

That was when I looked at my Momma and saw the tears I had never seen before. She held me closer and walked away, ignoring the man and his words. But the damage was done and when we got home she sat down and cried. I laid my head on her lap and she stroked my hair.

"Momma, I'm sorry." I whispered, because I hated seeing her so sad.

"Baby, you didn't do anything."

"But you're sad. And I don't know why."

My Momma looked at me, as if she was trying to remember something. "You have the eyes of your Grandpa."

She stroked my eyes, closing them. "You never met him, baby. I'm glad you didn't because he was mean and nothing like you. He was white."

My head shot up at that. I stared at her as if she had just said the moon really was made of cheese. But she only smiled at me, her eyes still trying to remember something. That was when I knew why I had lighter skin than the other girls at my school, why my Momma did. Why her hair was a light shade of brown and my Grandma's was black. I looked at her hand on mine, the lightest shade of caramel against mocha.

"Was my Daddy white, Momma?" I was afraid to ask, but I had to know. It was something we never spoke about. When I was younger I was told my Daddy had died before my Momma knew I was going to be born. They had been married only a few months before he was gone. I never asked who he was. Not even his name.

My Momma looked at me, not hiding the sadness in her face. "Yes and no. He was like me. A mixture. We were two of a kind, baby. We both knew what it was like to be on the outside of both worlds but at the same time inside."

I tried to picture my Momma with the man she talked about. I tried to understand what she was saying, but I couldn't. Why didn't she tell me about my Daddy? Why did everyone care my Momma's father was white? It was our family not theirs. I knew white people hated that kind of thing, but why did our neighbors care?

"Why can't they mind their own lives, Momma? Why do they all care?"

"Because people are afraid of different things, baby. Grandma and Grandpa, they were different and people hated knowing what he did. What Grandma had to go through wasn't right, and all those Christian white folks thinking they were doing her a charity."

I was lost in her words, unsure about everything. "I don't know anything about that. I never knew anything about Grandma."

My Momma told me then. And I listened, finally understanding why our family was different. Why Grandma never spoke of Grandpa, why Momma never spoke of Daddy and why I would never be fully accepted by anyone.

So as I waited at the bus stop, two white boys sauntering my way, I pulled my knitted jacket closer to me as they approached.

"Boy would be dead if it wasn't for me. Ungrateful I tell you." The shorter boy was saying. He was one of those greasy kids from the lower white class neighborhoods. Dressed in a dark jacket and jeans cuffed at the bottoms.

His friend was lean, his hair slicked in the back of his neck, with a piece dangling in front of his eyes. I pulled my knees in together, looking straight ahead.

"Don't sweat it, Buddy. He's a kid. He's stupid." The blonde boy leaned against the stop sign and took out a cigarette. His friend was stockier, with dark hair. He glanced at me and winked. I turned away.

It was about ten minutes until the bus would come by, and the sun was going down. I took a peek at the blonde boy who looked ahead with a grim look on his face. He kept snapping his lighter open and close, open and close. I turned back around because the last thing I needed was another white guy to bug me. But he was staring, looking me up and down.

"Hey, baby." The dark haired one drawled, the word seemed wrong coming from his mouth, nothing like my Momma called me. "Isn't it a little late for a cute chick to be out?"

I kept my eyes glued on the road. If I ignored him, he'd ignore me.

"What's wrong? Scared of little ol' me?"He came closer, tucking his lighter in his jacket. "I ain't gonna bite."

His friend laughed. "That's a lie, Buddy. You ain't nothing but teeth."

The dark haired one, Buddy, was in front of me, looking down and peering at my face. He studied me for a long time, and smiled slowly. I could see a glint in his dark eyes, and I remembered that man at the drugstore. I turned my face up to look at him because there was nothing else to do.

"Leave me alone, please." I mumbled, not really looking him in the eyes. I could feel my whole body flushing with anger and embarrassment.

"Aw, I don't mean any harm, baby. A pretty colored chick like you shouldn't be alone this late though." He leaned over me, his thumb brushing my chin. I pulled back and he smirked. "Some of these cats, they ain't any good. Can cause some real grief for a pretty face, white or otherwise."

"Just leave me alone, please." I got up, but he took my hand, holding me in place. His breath smelled like liquor and he looked no older than me. "Let me go."

"But our bus ain't come yet, baby." He turned to the other boy. "C'mon Eddie, tell doll-face not to be such a drag. It ain't even past my curfew yet."

The blonde looked at me with eyes I couldn't make out. I pleaded with my own, even though I hated it. Maybe he wasn't interested, maybe he felt bad. He stared at me for a few moments, and then he shrugged. "You never were good with the chicks, Bud."

Bud or Buddy whooped. "Well, God damn, Eddie! Go on and cut your man down, why don't you? It's ok baby, he's a sad delinquent. Gets a kick outta putting others down." He mocked a tear and laughed, his breath on my neck.

I tried to shake him off and pull away but he only laughed. "Let go, I don't even know you. Why don't you just let me go?"

I could hear the weakness in my voice but I pulled harder, and his friend came up beside me and I knew they were both drunk and looking for some action.

"Boy, you're fiery, huh? I think you're pretty tough." He leaned in close, his breath disgusting on my chin.

And then I felt his hand around my waist. I pushed him, he tightened his grip. Bud was laughing, his hand pulling at my skirt. "Why are you hiding those pretty legs with these panty hose?"

I felt his hands on my knee and I managed to jut my leg into his shins. He cursed and grabbed my arm, tightening it, just as his friend laughed loudly.

"Come on, Bud. I see the bus coming."

Suddenly I was released. "Too bad. Things were finally getting exciting."

I clutched my arms around me, my eyes fixed on the bus that was slowly approaching. And then I felt Eddie's arm around me. He grinned drunkenly. He said something about not worrying but all I could think of was getting home. I could hear his laughter but my eyes were blurry with tears as I kept my fingers around my arms. I told him to let go. He didn't.

The bus stopped before us and as they led me inside I could see the stares of the few people on the bus. There was one older black lady sitting to the left and she looked alarmed as I walked by her, Eddie's hand on my shoulder. He smirked at her, a kind of smugness in his eyes.

"Right this way Princess," Bud motioned to a seat, making way so I could pass, which I did without looking at him. If I played my part, he would leave.

Instead of sitting beside me, they took a seat farther down. I could hear their loud voices as we drove, trying to ignore the crude way they spoke about me. As if I couldn't hear even though it was obvious they knew exactly how loud they were, and Bud said something about wondering if I was the same color all over. I kept my head down, anger rising inside my chest so that I felt like screaming. I wanted to hit him, yell at him, tell him to go to hell. It scared me; this kind of hate but I couldn't will it away.

Just as I started to calm myself, the bus stopped and they got up. As they passed me, they winked. Bud gestured suggestively at me as they left the bus. I turned away and soon, I could feel the tears daring to escape. It wasn't until I got home and shut myself in my bed that I let one tear fall. After that I slept.

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><p><em>well, i'll be updating soon peeps. at least i'll try very, VERY hard to. =D<em>

_REVIEWS ARE MY CraCK_


	2. Chapter 2

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"Come on, Connie. Just one pack."

That's what George had said. One pack and he would owe me for life. I never denied my family anything, especially my step-brother. He was the one all the kids on my block looked up to and he asked for cigarettes, plain and simple. So why did I hesitate when he asked? I finally agreed, telling him I'd pick it up after work. The very thought of having to stop at _that_ drugstore bugged me, because I knew it wasn't in our neighborhood. Going to other parts of town meant dealing with other kinds of people.

As I got off the bus I shook off the thoughts and pulled the strap of my purse over my shoulder. I was sixteen. I wasn't a kid anymore and I could handle my own. So I got off the bus and walked down the street to the corner drugstore, the same one from six years ago, reminding myself that all I had to do was get one pack of cigarettes. That was all.

I stepped inside, not bothering to glance around. The faster I was the sooner I'd get out of there. The cigarettes were easy enough to find, and I managed to pay for them quickly. As the owner of the place handed my purchase to me, I spotted a few boys in the corner staring at me and I couldn't stop my heart from pounding just a bit more than it should've been. I hurried to the door, my head down and that's when they blocked my way.

"Hey, baby."

I glanced around, but the old man at the counter was gone and the store was empty except for me and the group of boys standing in front of me.

"Excuse me, please." I tried to keep my voice steady.

"Look, fellas. How polite she is." One boy with the darkest eyes I'd ever seen, smirked.

"Where you off to, Black Beauty?"

"What's that you got there? African Princess need a light?"

One of them grabbed the box out of my hands. "Well, like the good stuff, don't cha? How about we share?"

I wanted to yell, to grab it and run but I knew better. They looked tough and bored. The most dangerous combination. So I stood and took it, which sounds pathetic and weak but that's what I was. I was no more than a mouse surrounded by tigers. It made me even more ashamed.

"Let me by, please."

My voice sounded even more pathetic when they were all talking above me, saying things I tried to block out. Things about my skin, about how I almost looked like a tanned white girl if they squinted real hard. That made me sick and I repeated myself again even as I felt someone gently push me forward. I landed right into someone's hard chest and I felt his hands grab my arms.

"Careful, baby."

But he pushed me back, and I was unsteady on my feet, an easy target for them. I whirled around, trying to get past one red-headed boy when another next to him pushed me away. Then the dark-eyed one laughed with the others as he whirled me around. I grabbed his jacket and tried to right myself, but he gripped my waist.

"Let's see if you kiss like a white girl…"

That was when everything stopped and I realized the hand on his arm and the voice that practically yelled above the others.

All he said was "Leave her alone."

It was like all of us had slowed down unexplainably, turning with surprised faces to the boy who stood beside me. He had hair of the darkest gold, like burnished copper and eyes that had the same color of gold flecks swirled with blue. Hazel, but not quite. Those eyes were like none I'd ever seen. They reminded me of something, but I couldn't name it.

"What the hell are you talkin' about, Mike?" The dark-haired boy managed a small glare at him.

"You heard me, Rich. Leave her alone. She ain't been bothering you, so let it go. Besides you can't afford more trouble. One more strike and it's off to juvenile detention for you."

The guy, Rich I guess his name was, looked at his buddies for a moment, and everyone was quiet. I could feel the hesitation in the air, the questions that hung between them. I wanted to close my eyes until it passed because I looked at the hazel-eyed boy and saw just how much it cost him to have done what he did and I felt so guilty. And I hated feeling guilty because I was the one who was in trouble, and I was the one who had to go through everyday looking away from people like him. He didn't deserve my guilt or pity.

Finally Rich broke the silence. "Aw, shit." He backed away from me, and the others did too. I guess he was the unspoken leader. Gangs and things like that were a joke to me. I couldn't understand people taking orders or following someone else. Why would you want that kind of friendship?

"You're lucky you got a brother who'd beat our ass if anything happened to you. Even if you are being a _fucking stiff_."

I tried not to grimace at his words, especially when there was so much anger in them. How could you talk to someone who was supposed to be your friend that way? It made me sick. It made me furious.

"He wouldn't exactly be hip to you're kind of fun anyway, Rich. You know that."

But Rich pretended to ignore him, shaking off his anger and playing it cool. I knew from the set of his shoulders that he didn't want his façade to crack, not in front of his little cronies. I guess in a way it reminded me of the boys in my neighborhood.

"Let's beat it, guys." Rich gave me one last look over and shook his head, his eyes filled with a weird kind of look. But when he spoke, his voice was emotionless. "Make sure you don't come back here again, Princess. Not unless you want some other of these cats to finish where we left off."

He turned back to his buddies and man, I didn't need any more time to get out of there as fast as I could. I didn't stop until I was at the bus stop. I glanced down the street and then at my watch. The bus I had planned to take was long gone and the next wouldn't come until late. My heart was still beating quickly, and I put a hand to my chest to try and slow it, as if I could magically forget it all. What made those white boys so sure they could scare me? What gave them the right to make me feel so weak? I could feel the anger rising again, the heat in my cheeks growing as I replayed their words in my head. And the way they looked at me, as if they knew me. They knew nothing about me. Nothing about how my Momma cried knowing my Daddy wasn't really dead but gone, or how my Grandma sometimes had sadness in her eyes when she spoke of my Grandpa. They didn't know that sometimes I hated people as much as I hated my skin and that it scared me because I knew I shouldn't feel that way.

"Hey, uh, girl if you missed your bus I can give you a ride home."

That voice. I flipped around, my heart lurching to my mouth. His eyes looked gold in the dimming sunlight and he seemed to be struggling with keeping his face soft. The anger didn't fade like I wanted it too. It was coiled inside so tightly I could feel it breaking my bones.

"I'm…" He looked away. "Look, I'm really…"

I held my purse against me.

"I'm sorry." He looked at me, his eyes holding the understanding I wish I could feel. "What they did was low. You don't deserve any of that. Let me give you a ride."

Maybe he was being honest. Maybe he was white and understanding. Maybe he had no evil intentions and just wanted to help me. But all I could see was him standing in front of that drugstore, looking like that man from years ago, even though I knew they looked nothing alike.

"Go to hell."

His eyes, so golden and bright, widened a little. I felt the same, hearing the harshness of my words, but ignoring that little bit of regret inside my stomach. He didn't say anything but I could see he was trying to find the right words.

"Look, I don't want a pick up or anything."

That had me going. He saw it too. "Not that you're not real cute or anything. I mean, you'll have to stay here another hour to catch the next bus and I'll be leaving and I don't know what those other guys might do."

I turned away, glancing up the street again. I trusted him as much as I trusted a Congressman. But I couldn't walk home and I couldn't ride the bus so late. If only I had told George to get his own damn cigarettes. If only I didn't have to stop in that particular corner store. If only white boys weren't such low, filthy trash….

"My cars just over there."

It was too. A nice clean car that would take me home and I would never have to see this boy or his friends again. It seemed safe enough. If he tried anything I'd scream bloody murder and fight like an animal. So I found myself nodding slowly. "Okay."

"C'mon. It's getting late."

When we got in the car he didn't turn on the radio, only pulled into the street. I kept close to the door, feeling his eyes on me. It was bad enough I was actually riding with him, but the damn boy kept staring. Did he think I didn't notice? Like I was some dumb, wild animal he managed to capture?

"So, your mom's not gonna have a cow about you being late and all?"

He was talking to me, but I didn't look at him. I had my hand still on the doorknob, I guess to get ready in case he really was like his friends. Sometimes you couldn't tell with white folk. They were honey sweet one moment and then filled with venom the next.

"I mean, boy my mom gets worked up about those things. No matter what I do, she's on my case for something or other. But I guess that's how parents are. I guess nobody could get on without them."  
>He glanced at me again, but I kept my eyes on the road, my hand on the doorknob. He sounded like he was trying to get me to talk, but he was going to have to try harder. I didn't want to think of my parents now. All I could think about was my mama and that summer day she took me to get ice cream. Her eyes filled with tears and her ice cream melting on the cement.<p>

"Do you go to school?" He kept asking me questions, but I felt less anxious by his never ending voice. He could really talk. "I do but its one hell of a way to spend one's day. I mean, being around other kids is ok and all, but sitting still for all that time? I'd drop out if my old lady wouldn't bitch about it."

He looked at me then, his eyes growing wide. I couldn't help but be curious at his expression; I mean that face he was making could've been in a comedy movie or something. His mouth was open in an O shape and his eyebrows shot up.

"Sorry, I don't mean to cuss in front of you or nothin' but sometimes that's just how I talk."

The boy was a nut. Didn't he hear how I'd told him to go to hell? If he could've only heard half the things I thought about sometimes. It was enough to make me look at him fully; I mean really look at him. He had his eyes fixed on me, but every now and then he'd switch back to watching the road. There was surprise in his eyes and I realized I had been smiling.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you back there."

And just like that my smile was gone. I guess it was coming sooner or later, the truth. It wasn't something I could ignore or pretend never happened. His words struck me suddenly though and I had no idea what to say. What could I say? _Don't worry 'bout me, I'm used to it?_

So what if I couldn't help the tears that started running down my cheeks? So what if I started letting them take over and choke on my own sobs? I didn't care at that point to hide my loathing and frustration and emptiness. I deserved to be able to show him how his friends left me. And then I hated myself as soon as the thought came up, and it only made the tears come out faster, my breathing more erratic. Because who was I to cry over a bunch of low stupid white boys? What made me so weak I let them get to me?

"Hey, don't cry."

His voice was soft, but I couldn't look at him, couldn't answer. It wouldn't matter anyway. He wouldn't understand.

"It ain't fair." The words just came out, like my tears. "Not fair one damn bit. All those people thinkin' their better than you. Why? Cause their skin's white and their hair is smooth and straight like damn silk. I hate that. Hate that they walk and talk like their above you and you're just the speck of life they gotta deal with."

I couldn't keep my voice steady, and I knew my sobs were louder than my voice but I wanted to hear the words myself. I wanted to know I had that anger still in me. I wanted to hear the proof of my sorrow.

"And my dad," I sniffed, wiping the tears that fell on my dress away and getting ready for fresh ones. "That…bastard. All of them. Thinking he can leave my Momma cause he felt like it, cause his own daddy was a bastard too. Why they all gotta be like that?"

He was driving slowly, his hands tense on the wheel. I could see he was thinking, his eyes straining. But he couldn't understand. I knew he would never know what it was like to hate your own blood because it was mixed with bad emotions. My daddy was just like his daddy. And maybe I would be like him too, because I was part of him.

Then the car was being driven to the side of the rode and I sat straighter trying to see through my blurred vision where we were headed. I felt the brakes being pushed as we stopped and he turned reached into his pocket.

"What we stoppin' for?" My voice was raw and dry from crying. I might as well have whispered.

He kept on staring straight ahead, like he was afraid to look at me or else I'd start crying again. That got me more embarrassed. I didn't want to feel like a fool in front of him, but I had just made a scene like one. It made my face heat up.

"I thought I had a handkerchief but I guess I don't."

That voice wasn't mocking or hard. It sounded honest and pained, like he wanted to say something else but couldn't. There were a lot of things I wanted to say. A lot of things I wanted to ask. Like why he hung around those dumb boys. Or if he was really as bad as them. Maybe I'd ask him why he wanted to drop out of school or what he thought of his family. Did he have brothers or sisters?

But all I could think to say was. "Thank you."

We had pulled back on the rode then, and he asked where I lived. I told him quietly, because I still didn't trust my voice and I was as confused as ever. This white boy was different, but what did it mean? How could he be different and be in the drugstore with those lowlifes while they did that to me? He probably sat by while they told jokes about us too. But my mind, traitor that it was, kept telling me it was the same in my neighborhood. Wasn't it?

It wasn't long 'til we reached my house, and there at my house, standing on the front lawn, was George and some of his friends. I didn't look at them, because I knew how I'd see their confused faces fill with anger. If they only knew, would they show how ashamed they were of me? Be disappointed in my weakness and confusion? Here I was sitting next to a white boy, letting him give me a ride when I'd been the trash his friends had pushed around. I ducked, hoping they wouldn't see.

"Well, here you are." The boy, Mike, said.

I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what or how. I felt like both running away as fast as I could and spilling out everything to him to make him see how I was better than what he'd seen. I wasn't someone to pity, someone pathetic who could be walked all over. But I knew it was useless.

Just as I was getting out, there were kids all around. George. He was right by me, yanking me out and his big bulky body felt tense and angry. "What's the matter, Connie? What happened?"

I wanted to shout, to pull away, to run. But his dark eyes looked at me like he was reminding me of everything he said. _Don't let 'em get to you. Ain't never gone get your dignity back if you let them see you bend. A damn coward lets 'em see that, not any of us_

Oh, George, I cried in my head, wishing I could say it aloud. I didn't bend, I didn't. I cried and cried but I never let them win. But in my heart I knew I was wrong, and he would see it too. His eyes already fixed on my swollen eyes, making the tears come again, faster and wilder.

And then he was rushing past me, over to _him_ and I couldn't look as he stood tall and proud in front of that boy I wished would just leave and never come back. It's easier knowing you can hate without seeing who you hate, without knowing that you hated someone who didn't like some of the things his friends did and drove a Ford that smelled like the air after it rained.

"You hurt her, white boy?" George's voice rang in my ears. _Don't let 'em trick you, Connie. Like they tricked your Momma. Like they threw out your Grams and blamed it all on her._

No, no, no! I wanted to scream. I'm not tricked. I'm not! All I heard was my own sobbing, like a wounded animal. Pathetic, pathetic.

"No," _His_ voice had been saying. Then louder. "No."

I swear, George, He didn't. But his friend, and my daddy, and all the others….They did. _They did!_

"What if we don't believe you?"

Oh I knew George wouldn't have believed it if I told him how meek and like a real proper Negroe I was. I could've felt his shame already. It made me hate myself something awful for betraying him and my family like that. My Momma hadn't watched her mouth in front of white folks so many times to have her daughter do the same.

"Ask-" And I turned away at his voice, at those _eyes_. "Uh, just ask her!"

I wasn't looking at any of them, but I could feel them all turn to me. Did he sound scared? Was he dying inside as I stood quiet under all those fierce, proud, angry eyes? Didn't he know I was just like George? And deep down, wasn't he just like his friends?

My people, my friends all stood around him, looking and waiting for me to say something, _anything._ I couldn't look at them; I knew what I'd see. Eyes filled with unspent frustration and suspicion, full of strength and dignity. And one pair of eyes I shouldn't have ever believed were like my own.

I felt the tears roll down my cheeks, cool against my fevered skin and I choked, _choked_ as the words tumbled out. "Kill the white bastard."

And I ran. Ran as I heard one boy swear up a storm, and another slam the car door.

I ran and carried my aching, broken heart along to die.

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><p><em>Poor Mike. =( <em>

_Poor Connie. =(_


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